


Countless Screaming Argonauts

by ouro_boros



Category: The Lighthouse (2019)
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Sirens, Spoilers, its that kind of movie, kind of an au but also kind of canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouro_boros/pseuds/ouro_boros
Summary: A beautiful singing voice isn't the only thing a siren can use to attract a meal. Capitalism gets the job done just as well.
Relationships: Thomas Wake/Ephraim Winslow, Thomas Wake/Ephraim Winslow | Thomas Howard
Kudos: 16





	Countless Screaming Argonauts

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot of things to like about The Lighthouse, but by far my favorite is that "Wake is a siren" is a perfectly legitimate theory.
> 
> The title is from "Birdhouse in Your Soul" when the blue canary is thinking about how, if he were a lighthouse, he'd get fired after killing Jason and the Argonauts. Because I think "Siren Lighthouse Keeper" would have the world's funniest job description.
> 
> [You can find me at oury-boros on Tumblr!](https://oury-boros.tumblr.com/)

Wake learned early in his life as a siren that men rarely wanted sex so often as myths of his kind implied. These days, a pretty face and idle promises weren’t enough to lure anyone. A good thing too—Wake had been described in many ways, but never “pretty.” Sex to sirens wasn’t so much a need as it was a fork: useful for eating, but not necessary, and certainly not food.

So Wake devised and set his trap. A lighthouse and its keeper in need of an assistant. An opportunity for money, for solitude, for a lungful of salt. He spent his nights staring into the fire that he alone could enjoy, bathing in light. The veneer of a captain wasn’t so hard to adopt. Wake had spent plenty of time among sea men, either holding captives or being one. The tongue suited him, as did the potential for inventing his personal history.

He ate his fill of men, muscular and lean. If he had sex with them first, it had less to do with his eating habits than his libido. Besides, after four weeks alone with a domineering drunk who hoarded power like he were rich, a surprising number of men took the first opening they could to fuck him senseless. Sometimes they did well enough that he considered letting them live. Never actually followed through on that, of course. One good meal spread over a month already left him too thin. Lobster alone couldn't keep him healthy.

Wake wasn’t sure why he enjoyed companionship. It did nothing to sustain him, and sirens are hardly social creatures. Maybe those sea men had rubbed off on him under the surface too, imparted that need for camaraderie, or maybe just the lust for possession.

Either way, Wake was perfectly happy for Winslow to be stuck with him. The weeks passed quickly. Keeping Winslow (or Howard, as he soon learned) under control by day and drinking themselves into oblivion by night, they exchanged as many injuries as they did orgasms. Wake suspected he enjoyed it all far more than his companion did. Or, at least, more than his companion would admit. 

Wake wasn’t suited to confession. Wake wasn’t suited to trust.

Delirious from hunger, kerosene, and perpetually unsatiated longing, Wake was more suited to a mouth full of dirt and a torso lacking in blood what it made up for in sharpened metal.


End file.
